


to be Chosen is to burn (burn, burn, burn your soul to ash)

by CharlotteDaBookworm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (Subjective), (stabbed in the back 40 times by readers tired of my SPAG errors), An Astrals Chosen is Their Hand in the Mortal World, Astral Justice, Astrals Do Not Speak Human, Chosen of Ramuh Nyx, Dubious Morality, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Implied/Referenced Murder, It Isn't Nice, It is, Justice Isn't Kind, Libertus is a anger, Magical Realism, Moral Ambiguity, No beta we die like Caeser, Not A Fix-It, Nyx Ulric's Self-Esteem, Nyx blames himself for everything, Nyx is Ramuh's Voice, Poor Nyx, Ramuh isn't human - he is Justice, Self-Hatred, This is not a good thing, and Astral Justice is not Human Justice, and his Executioner, is harsh and unrelenting and uncaring of age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-07-30 10:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteDaBookworm/pseuds/CharlotteDaBookworm
Summary: Nyx Ulric is born in the midst of a storm and thunder rumbles as he screams his first breath. Five years later, he screams once more as lightning embeds itself in his skin.The Fulgurian has Chosen once again.His mother clutches him in her arms and weeps as storm-dark eyes stare up at her blurrily.(He doesn’t understand – can’t, at this age. Nyx is just a child, little more than a babe with a child’s understanding of the world, and he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that his mother is crying, and it hurts, and he doesn’t understand.He doesn’t understand, not like his mother does. Not like the nurses do. Not like all of those who will stare at the lightning on his skin with fear, who will look at him with pity.Nyx doesn’t understand. Not then.But he will.Oh,how he will)





	to be Chosen is to burn (burn, burn, burn your soul to ash)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own FFXV

“Where’s Nyx?”

Libertus doesn’t flinch as Axis scans the bar once more, as if to check that Nyx really wasn’t there – when the Hero usually only misses meals like these when on deployment or in the hospital – and then he turns back to him, frowning.

A dozen pairs of eyes also fix on him.

He scowls. “The idiot hasn’t been taking care of himself, he’s home, sick.” The irritated roll of his eyes is fake but expected; Libertus can already see the majority of the ‘Glaive turning away again, satisfied with that explanation, Tredd jeering over Nyx’s apparent idiocy, and he relaxes a fraction.

Everybody knows that Nyx cares for everybody but himself, after all.

But then Luche and Sonitus and a few other glaives that he knows are from Galahd exchange looks between them and his scowl deepens, shading darker. Harsher. Even Crowe and Pelna flinch away from his gaze and a part of Libertus, the monster inside of him that has been growing ever since he was five years old and he’d watched everyone distance themselves from his best friend like he was a lost cause because he was ‘Chosen’, _snarls_.

His hands clench around his glass and he tosses back the rest of his drink, standing - forcibly ignoring the space that instantly clears around him as he does so.

He’s a big guy. Libertus usually does his best to minimise the impact of that fact. He doesn’t do so now.

“I’m going to check on him,” he grunts. Axis nods in understanding, obviously thinking that he’s worried for Nyx and that’s why he’s irritable. He isn’t completely wrong, so Libertus doesn’t bother to correct him and say that he’s leaving before he punches someone.

Nyx is always so sad when he punches people for him.

(It only makes Libertus want to do it more)

And then he hears it. _“Better you than me_,” Sonitus mutters and the monster in his chest grows a little bigger at the relief and fear and _pity_ there.

Pity for Nyx. Pity for him.

Libertus wants to snarl – wants to snap and yell and sneer, wants to clench his fists and wipe that pity from Sonitus’ face because this man who hasn’t seen the truth of it all, who knows nothing but the rumours and the stories and doesn’t know that in reality it’s so much _worse_, doesn’t even try to help, just judges – but this is more familiar ground, full of well-trodden paths, and he knows that there’s no point. He knows it isn’t worth it.

He doesn’t react, just walks to the door.

(He doesn’t react, but he’s not the only one who hears.

The last thing that Libertus hears as the door closes behind him is Crowe’s fist striking Sonitus’ nose and a snarled _“It isn’t exactly hard to be better than you Bellum_.”)

(Libertus smiles)

* * *

He knocks on the door.

No answer.

He doesn’t really expect one.

“Nyx?” He calls, knocking again.

Silence.

Libertus lets himself in, his heart sinking as he steps into the tiny flat and the taste of ozone sits heavy on his tongue. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a second just to _curse_, taking an instant to grieve for Nyx, and when he opens them again, he already knows where he will find his errant best friend.

He heads straight for the bathroom, pausing in the doorway.

Nyx is standing by the sink in nothing but a bloodstained shirt and shorts, scrubbing fiercely – _frantically_ – at already red raw skin, clawing at his arms, scraping at his hands over and over and _over_ until he’s near drawing blood as his body shakes with silent, heaving sobs.

He flinches as he catches sight of Libertus in the mirror, his face a pale mix of blood and tears and guilt.

Libertus moves, pulling ice-cold hands away from the sink and holding them still, Nyx tensing at the touch before relaxing completely into it, sagging into his hold, sobbing. Libertus hums softly, his arm a band across his best friend’s chest, holding him upright as he reaches out with the other, turning the shower on. He tugs off Nyx’s clothes easily, bundling them to the side where they can’t be seen and he can throw them away later, and nudges him towards the water.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, hands never leaving Nyx – letting his touch ground him in a way that the man had admitted helped – as he gently washes every speck of blood from his body. Libertus untangles his braids and massages shampoo into his scalp, ignoring the way that the water runs red with blood. Ignoring the way that Nyx still stares at him as though he’s going to leave.

Ignoring the stark red of the lightning on Nyx’s shoulder, as bright as it was the day he was Called; it would fade in a few hours more. And then all Nyx would be left with is the memories.

Nyx is curled in the bottom of the shower, still shaking, still crying, but no longer clawing at his own skin when he reaches up from where he’s kneeling to turn the shower down.

Not off.

He knows from experience that the silence will just make things worse.

“I can’t do this,” Nyx croaks out, his voice hoarse from crying (from screaming). “I can’t- _Libs_, I can’t do this anymore, they were just a _kid_.” He sobs, clinging to Libertus’ arm and he has to push aside the flare of hatred towards the one who caused this – who continues to cause this. “_A kid,_ Libs, a kid who didn’t know what they were getting into until it was too late and I can’t- _this is my fault_.”

_“No,”_ he snarls, cupping Nyx’s cheek and lifting his face, tugging on one of his fresh braids until their eyes meet. “No, Nyx Ulric,” he says, fiercely, angrily, desperately; he won’t let Nyx become just another Chosen, destined to die young and broken and bleeding. “This is not your fault.”

“_Libs-_”

“It is not you doing this. It may be your hands that swing the blade, but it isn’t your Judgement. It isn’t your choice. It isn’t your _heart,_ Nyx Ulric. It is not your fault.”

Nyx collapses like a puppet whose strings have been cut, his head falling against Libertus’ chest, and he sobs. “_’m sorry, ‘m sorry, I dragged you into this an’ ‘m so sorry…”_

He clutches his best friend close as he sobs, as he _breaks_, and Libertus hates.

(Who would have ever thought that, one day, he would hate Ramuh far more than he could ever hate the Empire?)

**Author's Note:**

> I told you that I'd write this at some point. And now I have.
> 
> ish.
> 
> Anyway, feel free to ask me questions about this world, either on here or on tumblr, because I have a fair bit of worldbuilding for it all that didn't make it anywhere near this.


End file.
